All I Need...
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
40
Views:
14,216
Reviews:
137
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
40
Views:
14,216
Reviews:
137
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
All I Need...
TITLE: All I Need…
Author: Tisienne Blue
Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Disclaimer: Joss, et al. own everyone you know from telly. I make no money from this.
FB: Duh. Why else would I bother writing it? LOL
Archive: If you want to, tell me. I’ll say yes.
Summary: Someone realizes they were stupid and tries to rectify the situation.
Warnings: Porny man-sex, angst (duh),
A/N: Not really sure of where this is going, but I’ll try to make it an interesting ride. LOL
* * * * * * * * *
Prologue
The darkness was far from absolute. That was all he thought as he slowly regained consciousness. The darkness wasn’t as dark as he’d expected it to be.
Or maybe it was simply that he’d become used to it while he’d been out.
Sure, that was it. It had to be.
Muscles ached, trying to scream in the night as he turned, shifted, attempted to sit up.
Too soon, he realized, even as the not-so-dark darkness swarmed up before his eyes and swallowed him whole.
* * * * *
He didn’t know how long he’d been out. Still wasn’t entirely clear about what had happened, how he’d ended up here in this place.
Dirt beneath his naked body, dry, lifeless. He could smell that much. Dirt that felt like… incredibly fine-grained sand but bore nothing of silica within it. There would be no making glass from it, no matter how many times lightning struck.
Not that there would be lightning. Not in this dry, desolate place. Hell, he couldn’t smell more than a lick of water, and even that was coming from… over there.
His eyes opened gingerly, head turning almost unbearably slowly as he waited for abused muscles to object. Those same eyes opened wider still at the blatant lack of pain or tenderness.
It took mere moments to struggle up from the ground, his ass still firmly planted on the dead ground as he sat and stared.
Bonfire. Demons. Antelope bladder bag being passed around, and that’s where the small tinge of water-scent came from, he realized, his nostrils flaring slightly.
A loud, joking shout in a language he knew and didn’t know, and he remembered.
“Right,” he whispered, overly dry lips cracking slightly, “Africa.”
His tongue slipped slowly over his own mouth, tasting the small drops of blood from the splits speaking had created and he almost purred at the blessed moisture.
He’d come here for… something. He knew that on some deep, visceral level. Something. Something important. Something… necessary. He just couldn’t remember what it was.
Whatever it had been, though, he was sure it was something he’d needed.
His eyes narrowed slightly and he growled, the last three days and nights suddenly washing through his mind as though a dam had broken within him.
Fighting. Proving himself. Proving his commitment to his course of action. Showing-- for all to see-- just how much he wanted… needed… something.
What the hell was it? What had he needed badly enough to come here of all places?
He growled again, eyes slitted now as he wondered whether he’d somehow lost more than he’d come to gain. Like his mind, maybe.
He must have, he realized. Why else would he remember every moment he’d spent in battle, earning his… whatever… but not have clue one about what it was he’d come for in the first place?
“Right,” he murmured to himself, “I’ve officially gone bug-fuck nuts. Perfect.”
His nostrils flared again, eyes darting this way and that as he sensed… felt… smelled… tasted someone approaching.
“I’m guessing you’re still kinda disoriented,” the figure announced as it stepped between him and the light of the fire a good twenty feet away, “Hell, I’m surprised you’re even awake yet. Don’t worry, though. You’re about to pass out again and when you wake up, you’ll remember everything.”
The silhouette crouched down before him, horned head cocking to the side as reddish gold eyes met his own. “You made it through the trials, and not to freak you out or anything, none of us expected you to. I guess you really wanted to get back what you’d lost, huh?”
“You can call me Chip, by the way. When you wake up again.” The figure nodded, its metallic gold-hued skin gleaming slightly in the small fire-glow reflected from the body in front of it. “You know, most of us think you’re crazy for even coming here. But seeing you now, I guess you got what you deserved. Hope you enjoy it.”
He growled again as the demon straightened and strolled off to join the others, his tongue running over seeping lips again for just a moment before he did exactly as predicted and passed out to the accompaniment of soft voices, singing-- in a variety of demonic languages—what seemed to be Kumbayah.
* * * * * * * * *
Part 1
“Dead… all dead,” Spike whispered to himself, shifting in the large, comfortable bed as he forced himself to wake. “Dead and gone, dead and lost…”
And in that instant he woke, the dream—memory—of what he’d expected going into that last battle fading suddenly, as it always did.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t gasping for unneeded breath, of course.
It was always so clear in his dreams.
An army of demons, true demons, and dragons for fuck’s sake, bearing down on them from all directions…
They should have all died, and he knew it.
Still, they hadn’t, and it was the ex-Watcher who they had to thank.
Spike growled softly, still pissed off at the prat. How dare he save them? How dare he save them and die anyway?
“Bloody fuckin’ half breed Antichath demon! Soddin’ Wes! Great pissin’ wanker of a git!”
He ignored the small, slow tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He’d been through this every single night for months now, after all.
“Could have told us, ya pissant bitch,” he directed to whatever Heaven dimension the aforementioned prat was currently residing in. “Wouldn’t have held it against ya, would we? Two souled bloody vampires, a karaoke demon, a Hell God an’ the Thug, livin’ on borrowed time after tradin’ his soul for a bloody truck! Wouldn’t have minded so much, would we?”
He growled again, just on general principles, then rolled over, his fist slamming into his pillow a few times before he tried to go back to sleep even knowing it was a lost cause.
* * * * *
Angel sighed sadly, hearing his grand-childe’s words for the umpteenth time in God knew how long. Of course, that was why he’d put Spike in the rooms just below his after the so-called battle.
Whatever their disagreements—and there were and always would be many—the boy was still family and… he cared.
He might be willing to stake the ungrateful little piece of shit from time to time but… Spike. Spike was all he had left. The one thing that kept his demon from trying harder to be free.
As long as the bleached blond existed and allowed him-- them-- to be a part of his life, Angelus was… oddly content.
That didn’t mean either of them—Angel or his evil counterpart—were thrilled with how fixated the boy seemed to be on Wesley, though.
“We need to get him out of here,” Angel whispered to his other-self.
He ignored the rage and desire to kill or maim something that came from that portion of his psyche.
“If he stays here, he’ll… fade. And neither of us wants that. We need to let him go. Make him go. Before he makes himself as crazy as his Sire.”
Angel winced, his fingers digging roughly into the sheets beneath him. “His first Sire, damn it! Dru!”
And that was better, Angel admitted with a relieved sigh, deliberately not thinking about how much it would cost to replace the five hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets he’d just put ten rather large holes in.
* * * * *
He’d been dancing around it for days and he knew it, but… what was the right way to tell your overly possessive GrandSire that you needed to get away? That the only thing you could think of to keep yourself from going bug-shagging crazy was leaving?
Spike almost smiled, remembering the first time he’d used that expression, but… this wasn’t going to be easy. After losing Wesley, Angel had gotten a good bit… clingy. Kept his own closer than he’d done before and Spike couldn’t really blame him for that.
Hell, his Sire… GrandSire, he reminded himself, then shrugged… his acting Sire hadn’t allowed himself any real connections until a few years earlier and he supposed that having someone he counted as a friend saving him and going ‘poof’ would have made even him try to hold on to what he had.
Still, it was time.
He wasn’t doing any good here, Spike realized. Not when sodding Angel wouldn’t let him really get out there and do what he was good at—fight, bluster, create chaos from order.
No, he had to go. And he had to find a way to say it that wouldn’t result in finding himself shackled to the wall in the dungeon beneath the Wolfram & Hart building.
So…
“I’m takin’ ya up on your offer, mate,” he said as he strolled nonchalantly into the bloke’s office and threw himself into a chair. “Me. Somewhere else. Bankrolled by th’ firm.”
The overhanging brow rose for a moment. “I thought you turned that down, Spike,” Angel said after a moment, silently heaving a huge sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to drive the boy away, wouldn’t have to damage the relationship they’d managed to build, tentative as it was. Still, if he made it too easy, Spike would think he wanted him gone. It was a delicate procedure.
The blond shrugged. “Did. Changed my mind.” His bright blue eyes found the loam-brown ones of his GrandSire and he shrugged again. “Not doin’ much here, am I mate? An’ ya know how I get when I’m bored. Might have ta hack inta your system an’ issue a few new orders from on-high, right?”
One look at his GrandChilde’s smirk and Angel would have let him go even if he hadn’t thought leaving would be the best thing for Spike.
Oddly enough, he felt Angelus agreeing with him. Or maybe not so oddly. Angelus did like his comforts, after all, and how much more comfort could there be, considering? All that comfort would be gone—or at least merrily fucked—if Spike did what he was threatening.
“Fine,” Angel growled. “Give me three days. You’ll need ID, credit cards, proof of… well, existence. In the meantime, you can pack. Any idea of where you’re going?”
Spike frowned slightly. Angel was letting him go that easily? It seemed too good to be true.
“Not yet,” he admitted, ignoring the sense of betrayal the ease created within him, “Just bloody fucking away from here.”
Angel nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with the sapphire blue ones. “Let me know when you figure it out. I’ll have the jet on stand-by.”
And just like that, it was over.
It almost felt anti-climactic, Spike decided.
Of course, that didn’t keep him from rushing to his room and starting the sorting… things to take, things to leave, things to throw out.
He ignored the fact that one of the things he packed—the thing he packed first, in point of fact—was a very loud, very unappealing Hawaiian shirt that he’d bought shortly after becoming corporeal again simply because it had made him feel as warm and fuzzy inside as a souled vampire could.
Author: Tisienne Blue
Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Disclaimer: Joss, et al. own everyone you know from telly. I make no money from this.
FB: Duh. Why else would I bother writing it? LOL
Archive: If you want to, tell me. I’ll say yes.
Summary: Someone realizes they were stupid and tries to rectify the situation.
Warnings: Porny man-sex, angst (duh),
A/N: Not really sure of where this is going, but I’ll try to make it an interesting ride. LOL
* * * * * * * * *
Prologue
The darkness was far from absolute. That was all he thought as he slowly regained consciousness. The darkness wasn’t as dark as he’d expected it to be.
Or maybe it was simply that he’d become used to it while he’d been out.
Sure, that was it. It had to be.
Muscles ached, trying to scream in the night as he turned, shifted, attempted to sit up.
Too soon, he realized, even as the not-so-dark darkness swarmed up before his eyes and swallowed him whole.
* * * * *
He didn’t know how long he’d been out. Still wasn’t entirely clear about what had happened, how he’d ended up here in this place.
Dirt beneath his naked body, dry, lifeless. He could smell that much. Dirt that felt like… incredibly fine-grained sand but bore nothing of silica within it. There would be no making glass from it, no matter how many times lightning struck.
Not that there would be lightning. Not in this dry, desolate place. Hell, he couldn’t smell more than a lick of water, and even that was coming from… over there.
His eyes opened gingerly, head turning almost unbearably slowly as he waited for abused muscles to object. Those same eyes opened wider still at the blatant lack of pain or tenderness.
It took mere moments to struggle up from the ground, his ass still firmly planted on the dead ground as he sat and stared.
Bonfire. Demons. Antelope bladder bag being passed around, and that’s where the small tinge of water-scent came from, he realized, his nostrils flaring slightly.
A loud, joking shout in a language he knew and didn’t know, and he remembered.
“Right,” he whispered, overly dry lips cracking slightly, “Africa.”
His tongue slipped slowly over his own mouth, tasting the small drops of blood from the splits speaking had created and he almost purred at the blessed moisture.
He’d come here for… something. He knew that on some deep, visceral level. Something. Something important. Something… necessary. He just couldn’t remember what it was.
Whatever it had been, though, he was sure it was something he’d needed.
His eyes narrowed slightly and he growled, the last three days and nights suddenly washing through his mind as though a dam had broken within him.
Fighting. Proving himself. Proving his commitment to his course of action. Showing-- for all to see-- just how much he wanted… needed… something.
What the hell was it? What had he needed badly enough to come here of all places?
He growled again, eyes slitted now as he wondered whether he’d somehow lost more than he’d come to gain. Like his mind, maybe.
He must have, he realized. Why else would he remember every moment he’d spent in battle, earning his… whatever… but not have clue one about what it was he’d come for in the first place?
“Right,” he murmured to himself, “I’ve officially gone bug-fuck nuts. Perfect.”
His nostrils flared again, eyes darting this way and that as he sensed… felt… smelled… tasted someone approaching.
“I’m guessing you’re still kinda disoriented,” the figure announced as it stepped between him and the light of the fire a good twenty feet away, “Hell, I’m surprised you’re even awake yet. Don’t worry, though. You’re about to pass out again and when you wake up, you’ll remember everything.”
The silhouette crouched down before him, horned head cocking to the side as reddish gold eyes met his own. “You made it through the trials, and not to freak you out or anything, none of us expected you to. I guess you really wanted to get back what you’d lost, huh?”
“You can call me Chip, by the way. When you wake up again.” The figure nodded, its metallic gold-hued skin gleaming slightly in the small fire-glow reflected from the body in front of it. “You know, most of us think you’re crazy for even coming here. But seeing you now, I guess you got what you deserved. Hope you enjoy it.”
He growled again as the demon straightened and strolled off to join the others, his tongue running over seeping lips again for just a moment before he did exactly as predicted and passed out to the accompaniment of soft voices, singing-- in a variety of demonic languages—what seemed to be Kumbayah.
* * * * * * * * *
Part 1
“Dead… all dead,” Spike whispered to himself, shifting in the large, comfortable bed as he forced himself to wake. “Dead and gone, dead and lost…”
And in that instant he woke, the dream—memory—of what he’d expected going into that last battle fading suddenly, as it always did.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t gasping for unneeded breath, of course.
It was always so clear in his dreams.
An army of demons, true demons, and dragons for fuck’s sake, bearing down on them from all directions…
They should have all died, and he knew it.
Still, they hadn’t, and it was the ex-Watcher who they had to thank.
Spike growled softly, still pissed off at the prat. How dare he save them? How dare he save them and die anyway?
“Bloody fuckin’ half breed Antichath demon! Soddin’ Wes! Great pissin’ wanker of a git!”
He ignored the small, slow tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He’d been through this every single night for months now, after all.
“Could have told us, ya pissant bitch,” he directed to whatever Heaven dimension the aforementioned prat was currently residing in. “Wouldn’t have held it against ya, would we? Two souled bloody vampires, a karaoke demon, a Hell God an’ the Thug, livin’ on borrowed time after tradin’ his soul for a bloody truck! Wouldn’t have minded so much, would we?”
He growled again, just on general principles, then rolled over, his fist slamming into his pillow a few times before he tried to go back to sleep even knowing it was a lost cause.
* * * * *
Angel sighed sadly, hearing his grand-childe’s words for the umpteenth time in God knew how long. Of course, that was why he’d put Spike in the rooms just below his after the so-called battle.
Whatever their disagreements—and there were and always would be many—the boy was still family and… he cared.
He might be willing to stake the ungrateful little piece of shit from time to time but… Spike. Spike was all he had left. The one thing that kept his demon from trying harder to be free.
As long as the bleached blond existed and allowed him-- them-- to be a part of his life, Angelus was… oddly content.
That didn’t mean either of them—Angel or his evil counterpart—were thrilled with how fixated the boy seemed to be on Wesley, though.
“We need to get him out of here,” Angel whispered to his other-self.
He ignored the rage and desire to kill or maim something that came from that portion of his psyche.
“If he stays here, he’ll… fade. And neither of us wants that. We need to let him go. Make him go. Before he makes himself as crazy as his Sire.”
Angel winced, his fingers digging roughly into the sheets beneath him. “His first Sire, damn it! Dru!”
And that was better, Angel admitted with a relieved sigh, deliberately not thinking about how much it would cost to replace the five hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets he’d just put ten rather large holes in.
* * * * *
He’d been dancing around it for days and he knew it, but… what was the right way to tell your overly possessive GrandSire that you needed to get away? That the only thing you could think of to keep yourself from going bug-shagging crazy was leaving?
Spike almost smiled, remembering the first time he’d used that expression, but… this wasn’t going to be easy. After losing Wesley, Angel had gotten a good bit… clingy. Kept his own closer than he’d done before and Spike couldn’t really blame him for that.
Hell, his Sire… GrandSire, he reminded himself, then shrugged… his acting Sire hadn’t allowed himself any real connections until a few years earlier and he supposed that having someone he counted as a friend saving him and going ‘poof’ would have made even him try to hold on to what he had.
Still, it was time.
He wasn’t doing any good here, Spike realized. Not when sodding Angel wouldn’t let him really get out there and do what he was good at—fight, bluster, create chaos from order.
No, he had to go. And he had to find a way to say it that wouldn’t result in finding himself shackled to the wall in the dungeon beneath the Wolfram & Hart building.
So…
“I’m takin’ ya up on your offer, mate,” he said as he strolled nonchalantly into the bloke’s office and threw himself into a chair. “Me. Somewhere else. Bankrolled by th’ firm.”
The overhanging brow rose for a moment. “I thought you turned that down, Spike,” Angel said after a moment, silently heaving a huge sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to drive the boy away, wouldn’t have to damage the relationship they’d managed to build, tentative as it was. Still, if he made it too easy, Spike would think he wanted him gone. It was a delicate procedure.
The blond shrugged. “Did. Changed my mind.” His bright blue eyes found the loam-brown ones of his GrandSire and he shrugged again. “Not doin’ much here, am I mate? An’ ya know how I get when I’m bored. Might have ta hack inta your system an’ issue a few new orders from on-high, right?”
One look at his GrandChilde’s smirk and Angel would have let him go even if he hadn’t thought leaving would be the best thing for Spike.
Oddly enough, he felt Angelus agreeing with him. Or maybe not so oddly. Angelus did like his comforts, after all, and how much more comfort could there be, considering? All that comfort would be gone—or at least merrily fucked—if Spike did what he was threatening.
“Fine,” Angel growled. “Give me three days. You’ll need ID, credit cards, proof of… well, existence. In the meantime, you can pack. Any idea of where you’re going?”
Spike frowned slightly. Angel was letting him go that easily? It seemed too good to be true.
“Not yet,” he admitted, ignoring the sense of betrayal the ease created within him, “Just bloody fucking away from here.”
Angel nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with the sapphire blue ones. “Let me know when you figure it out. I’ll have the jet on stand-by.”
And just like that, it was over.
It almost felt anti-climactic, Spike decided.
Of course, that didn’t keep him from rushing to his room and starting the sorting… things to take, things to leave, things to throw out.
He ignored the fact that one of the things he packed—the thing he packed first, in point of fact—was a very loud, very unappealing Hawaiian shirt that he’d bought shortly after becoming corporeal again simply because it had made him feel as warm and fuzzy inside as a souled vampire could.